


The French Press

by nauticalparamour



Series: The Danube Incident [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, James Bond AU, Modern AU, One Shot, non magical au, spies au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 09:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30120513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauticalparamour/pseuds/nauticalparamour
Summary: Hermione has been confined to desk duty after what happened in Vienna, but even an order from M couldn't keep her away from Paris for the Weasley Wedding. With Harry as her chaperone, will there be a chance for her to cross paths with a familiar stranger? Antonin x Hermione. One-Shot. Sequel to The Danube Incident.
Relationships: Antonin Dolohov/Hermione Granger
Series: The Danube Incident [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099715
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58





	The French Press

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the long awaited (I hope, haha) sequel to the Danube Incident. Definitely go read that first if you haven't already. I've really been enjoying this James Bond AU, and I hope you have been too. Not entirely sure if I am done with this universe yet... You can follow me over on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
> 
> The biggest thank you to SynnDagger for beta reading this for me! She has been absolutely invaluable in helping me cut down on all my wiggle words and silly grammar mistakes.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this one!

"Agent Potter reporting for duty," Harry said with a smug smile on his face as he leaned on Hermione's door frame.

"Please don't remind me that M insisted on giving me a babysitter," Hermione growled, feeling annoyed that her little mistake in Vienna had still gone unforgiven even six months later.

"Hey, it's not like I wasn't invited to the wedding, too! I am Ron's other best friend," he griped. "Do you have everything you need?"

"And then some," Hermione agreed, motioning to the weekender bag waiting by the door. Even though they were headed to the glamorous Weasley-Delacour wedding in Paris, that didn't mean that she couldn't fiteverything she needed into her trusty bag.

Harry, ever her knight in shining armor, lifted it onto his shoulder. "Jesus, Hermione, what have you got in here?" he asked, moaning under its weight.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, buck up, Potter. I can carry it if you don't have the strength," she quipped, before stepping out of her flat and locking the door behind her. "We better get going if we want to make it in time to freshen up before Gabrielle's first event."

Believe it or not, this was the second Weasley-Delacour wedding. Ron's older brother, Bill, had married the lovely Fleur in a backyard ceremony at the Weasley's country home four years earlier. When Gabrielle announced that she was getting married, her parents insisted that this wedding be held in France.

Hermione was not complaining either way. She could do with a glamorous getaway after being chained to her desk in MI6 these last few months.

"At least tell me that you've sorted our transportation," Harry asked her, chasing her down the stairs.

She smirked before stopping in front of a sporty silver coupe parked on the street. "Zero to sixty in 3.1 seconds. Will this do, Potter?" Hermione asked, tossing him the keys and taking her bag from him.

Harry grinned. "Oh, this will be perfect," he agreed.

Hermione thought that they might have broken some sort of land speed record with the way Harry had been driving. He was lucky to have her monitoring the roads for potential run-ins with the police. She didn't imagine that the French would believe that he was on government business should they get pulled over.

Well, thanks to Harry's reckless driving, they'd had enough time to do a quick drive through the City of Lights, even stopping for a quick walk through the Jardins du Luxembourg, before going to the hotel to freshen up before the groom's dinner.

Even though it was called that, Hermione knew that Molly Weasley had had no part in planning the luxurious party at a private little casino in Saint-Germaine-des-Pres that demanded black tie.

Harry picked her up from her room wearing a perfect black tux.

He whistled low when he saw her, wearing a daring off-the-shoulder red gown. "Hermione, I don't think anyone will be able to keep their eyes off of you," he said reverently.

"Don't be silly, Harry," Hermione scolded him. "Everyone will be enchanted by Gabrielle. Now, don't make me regret agreeing to go with you if you go all mushy on me."

Hermione had had the brilliant idea to go with Harry so they wouldn't have to worry about finding a plus one. While Harry could get just about any girl to go out with him, he didn't want to give someone the wrong idea that he was looking for more by bringing them to a wedding. Hermione just...well, she didn't want to think about her depressing lack of a love life, even more bleak after what had happened in Vienna.

The air was still hot even though the sun had gone down while they made the short drive from their hotel to the casino. Walking inside on Harry's arm, Hermione could feel everyone turning to look at them and she fought a little blush.

"Drink?" Harry asked her, guiding her over to the bar.

Her first instinct was to order a French 75 - when in Paris, after all - but it still made her think of Antonin, so she nixed that. "I'll have a Hugo," Hermione ordered.

"Don't you ever think about having a normal cocktail, like a martini?" Harry teased her.

"Maybe you need a little more variety in your life," Hermione countered.

"Oh, I get plenty of variety," Harry answered with a laugh. "Just not with my drinks."

With her drink finally in hand, Hermione and Harry set out to find Ron and see how he was doing. Even though they knew he was over the moon to be marrying Gabrielle, there was a non-zero chance that he was in a vicious cycle of nerves.

There weren't too many guests there yet, but with so many Weasley relatives, it was not easy to pick out Ron from the crowd.

Before they could talk much more, there was a bit of commotion at the door. Hermione turned to look and watched as about twelve well-dressed men poured in. "Delacour cousins, perhaps?" she whispered, though she knew that something was wrong.

"I don't think so," Harry said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out his gun. "Hermione, get back."

He shoved her behind him just as one man came to stand in the center of the party. The man raised his own gun and fired off three rounds into the ceiling. People were screaming and ducking.

Hermione could feel her heart pounding in her chest, wondering what exactly was going on.

"Everyone calm down," the man barked, a smirk on his face while he twirled around in a circle, peering at everyone's faces. "I don't want to ruin a good party, but I do have a little unfinished business with one of your guests. Harry Potter!"

Harry stepped forward, his gun pointed directly at the man. "What do you want, Tom?" he snarled. "For me to finish what I started in Marrakesh?"

Hermione cocked her head to get a better look at the man. This must be Tom Riddle, the man otherwise known as Voldemort.

"I don't want to risk spilling any innocent blood," Tom countered, sounding magnanimous. "Let's move this to a venue more suitable for our discussion. And to ensure that you come, I'll hold onto some collateral - your wife!"

A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd, but no one was more surprised than Hermione. Harry certainly didn't have a wife!

But before she could think about it any longer, a rag was pressed over her face and the world faded to black.

Hermione woke up suddenly, but her body still felt like lead - like every cell had fallen asleep and had only just begun the pills and needles return to consciousness. She wiggled her fingers and toes before her eyes fluttered open.

She was lying on a chaise in a rather opulent, expansive studio, still in her satin dress. "Where the hell am I?" she whispered to herself, only to have the details of the party rush back to her. Voldemort had been there and she...

She had been kidnapped!

Sitting up abruptly, she looked around the room, only to find Antonin lounging in a chair by the window, smirking at her.

"Hermione."

Her name sounded like flowing caramel, bringing back all sorts of memories from the last time they'd met in Vienna.

"Dolohov," she spat back at him, not wanting to give him even an ounce of satisfaction knowing how he still affected her. "Chloroform, really? Are you guys getting tips from 50p paperbacks now?"

He laughed. "It's actually a cocktail of our own invention," he answered. "Chloroform takes too long. I thought you of all people would know that."

"You have some nerve," she said, the hard bite of anger bleeding back into her. "Kidnapping me after you already used me. Sleeping with me to get my laptop is low, even for a Death Eater."

"What can I say? I promised I would see you again," he said, not apologetic at all. "And don't act as if you didn't fully enjoy being used."

Hermione could feel herself flush. He was right. She hadn't minded the sex one bit; he had been the best lay she'd had in years and it would be a lie to say that she hadn't come back to the memory of the night over and over and over...

"Well, I hope you enjoyed the fruits of your labor," she answered, standing up and pressing her hands to her hips. She felt a bit silly standing in her gown having this argument. "Tell me, did you even get past one layer of encryption?"

Dolohov made no secret of trailing his eyes over the curves of her body before meeting her eyes again. "You are good at what you do, Hermione," he conceded. "But we did get through the first layer."

"And now you are on babysitting duty," she said triumphantly. "I guess Voldemort wasn't too happy with your work."

Annoyance flashed across his face and Hermione realized that she'd hit relatively close to the truth. She was going to keep pushing at that, but before she could, the lone door opened.

Hermione was barely able to hide her shock when Voldemort himself strode into the room.

She could tell that he used to be incredibly handsome. He was tall and pale, with thick dark hair, high cheekbones, and an angular jaw to match. But he had been scarred by his life of crime: a jagged mark bisected one side of his face and his nose had obviously been broken and set one too many times.

"Good morning, Mrs. Potter," Voldemort said. "I hope your stay with us has been pleasant so far. I've brought you some breakfast."

He handed her a small paper bag with a pain au chocolate inside. Hermione took it, stunned into silence by his nonchalance.

"You must be uncomfortable still in your party dress, though it looks lovely on you," he continued, giving her body an appreciative glance.

She crossed her arms over her chest to protect herself from his gaze.

"Dolohov," he barked. "I thought I told you to make sure our guest was comfortable. Go and get her a change of clothes."

Antonin gave her an uneasy look before exiting the studio, leaving her alone with him.

Hermione didn't know what to say. She had a lot of things she ought to say to the man who had just kidnapped her, but she couldn't deny that Voldemort was dangerous. There was no point in making him mad.

"You don't blather on. That must be part of the reason Potter likes you. I must admit that I was surprised to hear that he had gotten married," he quipped before walking around her slowly, appraising her form from every angle. "You are certainly pretty enough but Potter has had his share of women, hasn't he?"

Oh, yes, how could she have forgotten?

Just before she'd been snatched from the party he'd mentioned taking Harry's wife and now he was calling her Mrs. Potter. It was almost too preposterous, but there was no denying it now — he thought that she was married to Harry!

Hermione didn't know where on Earth he would have gotten that idea, but she would play along.

"What do you want with my husband?" she asked, deciding to play along with the ruse for now. Voldemort likely had no idea how valuable of an asset he had standing here in his studio. She knew basically everything there was to know about MI6 and she had a creative mind when it came to weaponry. It wouldn't do to let him know what had fallen right into his lap if he didn't know already.

"You don't need to worry your pretty little head about it," he said with a quirk of his lips. "He just needs to come here and speak to me. I promise not to hurt him too much."

"You couldn't hurt Harry if you tried," Hermione said, her chin jutting out proudly. "He'll kill you first."

"When I am done with him, he will be in so many parts you won't even recognize him," he countered with a snarl. He prowled towards her until their bodies were pressed together and he cupped her cheek. "But it's okay. If you don't want him anymore, you can stay with me. I can give you anything you want."

Hermione highly doubted that and pulled back, needing to put space between herself and the supervillain.

The door opened again and Hermione was surprised at how excited she was to see Antonin return. He carried some clothing in his arms.

"Ah, Antonin," Voldemort said when he realized his henchman returned. "I'll leave our little prisoner in your capable hands." The older man turned on his heel and left without any other words to Hermione.

She stood there in silence while Antonin looked at her for a few minutes, her skin still crawling from her contact with Voldemort.

"I've brought you some clothes," he said, setting down a thin t-shirt and pair of joggers on the table. He'd also brought them each a coffee and a newspaper.

Hermione was grateful to get out of her red dress, but she wasn't keen to give Antonin a show he didn't deserve. "Will you turn around?" she asked, holding the joggers up against her chest.

"Why? It's nothing I haven't seen before," he quipped before turning his back so she could change.

She snorted in derision at the idea. "Yes, well that was before I knew that you were a literal henchman to one of the most odious villains our world has seen," she answered. The joggers were heavenly soft against her skin, but the t-shirt was rather sheer. It was not helped by the fact that her dress hadn't allowed for a bra.

"I'm surprised you didn't recognize me," Antonin said, waiting for her to give him the okay to turn back around. He swallowed when he saw her arms still crossed over her chest, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

Good, Hermione thought to herself. At least he's still affected by me.

"We only had your prison photo before Vienna," Hermione explained, taking a long sip of her coffee. It helped to rattle out the last of whatever knockout gas they had given her. "Your file has since been updated."

He laughed at that statement.

"Why does Voldemort think I am Harry's wife?" she interrogated him, walking around the perimeter of the studio. There were massive windows open on basically every side, but she wasn't entirely sure where they were. She spotted the Seine easily enough on one side and then the Arc de Triomphe and Champs Elysées.

"That's how you introduced yourself at the auction," Antonin said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, her eyes lingering on the Trocadero. "But you know that it was just a farce. Why didn't you tell him who I really am?"

"Because I wanted to see you again," Antonin said. "And I'd much rather have you all to myself."

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat at the proclamation. Surely she would be much more fascinating to Voldemort if he knew that he had an MI6 quartermaster in his clutches. But in an odd sort of way, Antonin was protecting her from his own boss.

She frowned. "It's probably very dangerous to risk his wrath should he find out that you were less than forthcoming with him," she whispered, feeling Antonin come to stand behind her, his body pressed against her.

"Then I will have to take advantage of the benefits before he realizes," he answered, his voice a low rumble in his throat.

Turning around to face him, Hermione felt her lips parting and she knew how easy it would be to kiss him. But she wasn't going to forgive his betrayal that easily. "If you want any benefits, then you better get to work on groveling," she told him in her bossiest tone. "Because I haven't forgotten how you used me."

She spun back around to look out the window, still determined to figure out where she was being held. She found the Ecole Militaire next. "Where the hell are we?" she demanded. "I can't find the Eiffel Tower anywhere."

Antonin laughed. "Then...isn't it obvious?"

Hermione could feel her nostrils flaring in annoyance. "God, how stereotypical a villain can he get!" she griped, thinking that Voldemort certainly had a flair for the dramatic. Of course, she had known that the Eiffel Tower had an apartment at the top, but that someone like Voldemort would own it had never crossed her mind. It would take Harry ages to figure it out.

"Regrettably, I need to take care of some things," Antonin said, his fingertips finding the curve of her neck, trailing featherlight caresses down the bare skin that made her shiver. "Is there anything I can bring you that would aid in the groveling?"

She could barely hide her smirk at the prospect. "I don't know. Lunch?" she offered, knowing that she was already softening towards Antonin again. "Maybe you could just let me go. That would help."

"Before I've gotten a kiss? Not likely," he answered. "I've left the paper for you. You might find it interesting."

Hermione was interested in that, but she waited until her captor had left the small apartment to dart over to the table. Calling it a newspaper was incredibly generous, as it seemed to be closer to a tabloid. But there was no mistaking a picture of her and Harry on the cover of the paper on their way into the party. She knew enough French to read the byline, which again identified her as Harry's kidnapped wife.

Bloody hell, Hermione thought. M is going to kill me. I'll never see the light of day again.

She wasn't entirely sure how much time had passed before Antonin came back. She'd pointedly ignored Voldemort's offering of breakfast, but she had finished the coffee Antonin brought her. She was hungry by the time he blessedly returned, carrying a small box of confectionary.

"Macarons?" Hermione asked, eagerly opening the perfect pink box, a little disappointed that he'd brought her the small, light cookies as opposed to say...a gigantic Croque Madame, but she supposed beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Elderflower," he said with a grin, having picked up on her preference for the flavor.

Hermione plucked one out of its box and took a bite before slumping back onto the chaise.

Perhaps knowing that he wasn't unwelcome, Antonin slid into the spot next to her. His long legs stretched out, grazing her own leg. She felt a bit guilty over the zing of excitement that filled her body. She shouldn't be enjoying the contact while she was still cross with him.

Antonin leaned into her body, his fingers pulling her hair back over one shoulder to reveal her neck. He ghosted his lips over her skin. "May I begin the groveling?" he whispered, his voice dropping an octave.

She turned away from him. "You aren't seducing your way out of this one," she insisted. "I never do that sort of thing-"

"What sort of thing?" he asked.

"A one-night stand. I just have never had the taste for it," she said, biting her lower lip. "But crossing paths with you so many times felt like fate. And then to learn that you'd arranged it all to get access to my computer was..."

She trailed off, unable to finish her thought.

Antonin pressed his lips against the curve of her neck and down her spine until he met the collar of her oversized shirt. "I didn't want to hurt you," he revealed. "And I'm sorry that I did. I had hoped that you would be none the wiser and we could just look back fondly on a mind-blowing night."

Hermione delighted at the shivers that took over her whole body when his lips met her skin. She felt like she was tingling all over. "It doesn't change the fact that you never would have pursued me if it wasn't for my job," she answered.

"Oh, I promise you that I would have," he answered, bringing his arms around her body. One arm pulled her back against his body, while the other hand gently held her chin, making her turn her head to face him. "Not only do I find you extremely attractive, though your own dossier photo does not do you justice, but I've also read enough about your work to find myself highly intrigued. In-person, your wit is only more appealing."

She swallowed. It felt foolish to believe him, but at the same time, he was so convincing. "Do you swear it?" she asked.

Antonin smirked. "Yes, I swear it," he agreed. "Now, can I begin making it up to you? Can I convince you to accept my apology?" The hand across her body came up to cup her breast, fingers rolling across her nipple.

"Oh god, yes," Hermione said, completely under his spell.

Turning in his arms, she surged forward until her lips met his in a passionate kiss. Almost immediately, she deepened the kiss, sighing when his tongue tangled with hers. His hands slipped up under the fabric of the loose t-shirt and she wondered if he'd planned this just like he'd planned to bump into her at the Belvidere. But did it really matter when he was touching her that way? When he was making her want him more than she'd ever wanted anyone?

Hermione didn't argue when he pushed her shirt up over her head, exposing her body to him. She knew that she shouldn't be doing something so risky when Voldemort could walk back in at any moment, but the risk only excited her more. Instead, her fingers found the buttons of his pale blue shirt and loosened them from their holes, one by one, until she could push the fabric back over his shoulders.

"My memory does not do justice to your loveliness," Antonin whispered as he stared at her exposed breasts, partially concealed by tousled hair. He pushed her hair back so that he could look at her unobscured. "Or maybe it is because I am just now seeing you in the sunlight."

She bit her lip, feeling her heart hammer away in her chest. Normally, she would have felt quite exposed and uncomfortable, but the look in Antonin's eye showed her that he was genuinely captivated by her.

But god, she needed more. Her whole body tingled with unspent energy and she longed to rock her core against his leg so she could get some friction. If Antonin didn't touch her now, she thought that she might burst into flame. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down for another searing kiss, moaning when they connected.

That seemed to snap Antonin back into the moment and he was breaking the kiss, only to pepper her skin with kisses. His lips were featherlight on her jaw and neck, only to switch to open-mouthed kisses once he passed her collarbone. Hermione's breathing was shallow and quick when he finally reached the tip of her breast, the peak hard with desire. Her fingers tangled in his hair to hold him in place, thinking that she never wanted him to stop.

With some reluctance, he separated from her breast, only to give the same treatment to its twin. He cupped her breast once again, his thumb rolling against her nipple again and again until Hermione thought she might go insane.

She pressed her thighs together, feeling how slick she already was from just a few kisses. She needed more and she needed it right at that moment.

Antonin seemed to get that message loud and clear. His lips continued their downward journey, over her ribs and past her belly button until he reached the elastic of her joggers. Hermione fought with herself to maintain eye contact, waiting to see what he would do. When he finally pulled the offending joggers down over her hips, she lifted her arse off the chaise so he could remove them more easily.

But seeing him there, with his mouth so very close to her slit was suddenly too much. She threw her arm over her eyes just as his lips gave her a tentative kiss. Almost as if she was shocked by some electricity, her hips moved of their own accord.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his breath ghosting over her skin.

Hermione fought a whimper, embarrassed that she was being made to admit it. "Very much," she agreed, biting her lower lip.

That was all the reassurance that Antonin seemed to need. He kissed her more soundly, right on the pearl at the top of her sex, one hand pressed to her hips to hold her in place. He licked her slickness again and again until he found a rhythm that had her seeing stars, great constellations of light behind her tightly closed eyelids.

She was in far too much pleasure to be embarrassed by how much she liked it at this point and was reduced to a puddle of moans and sighs as Antonin quickly worked her to the edge of release. His tongue worked in circles against her flesh until finally, finally she was coming, whimpering his name.

Hermione melted, completely boneless against the chaise while Antonin kissed his way back up her body. She was recovered by the time he lifted her arm off her face, wanting to look into her eyes.

"Have you forgiven me yet?" he asked.

"If that's how you apologize, I might have to stay annoyed for a bit longer," Hermione said with a shy grin.

But she wasn't finished with him - not yet. Her greedy fingers found the button of his jeans and quickly worked to free him from the denim. Her hands bumped up against his cock, hard and throbbing, and she knew she needed to have him once again.

Antonin did not put up much of a fight while she divested him of his remaining clothing. Instead, he sat back against the chaise, looking like a king. When he was as nude as she was, Hermione crawled along his body, throwing one leg over his waist.

Boldly, Hermione took hold of his cock and positioned him at her entrance before sinking down onto him. She collapsed against his chest, moaning into the skin of his shoulder as she took a moment to adjust to the familiar feeling. This was really far too perfect, she thought.

He grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into her skin, wanting her to move but unwilling to rush her. Eventually, Hermione could wait no longer and rose up, only to sink back on him. Antonin's head fell back, exposing his neck to her. She immediately kissed him, her tongue pressing against his pulse point.

Hermione was pleased that he was letting her find a rhythm on her own. Pressed against him as she was, each stroke was hitting her in precisely the right place. She could already feel her center tightening again, pushing closer and closer to a second orgasm with each roll of her hips.

Once she'd found the right tilt and motion, though, Antonin started working with her, his hips rocking in time with her movements. One hand remained on her hip, while the other snaked up her back, holding her body against his. Each touch of his fingers to the spot between her shoulder blades had shivers racing down her spine, only to pool in her center.

The first time they'd slept together had been rushed and frenetic, but there was something about this that was more purposeful, more intense. Looking into the deep brown of Antonin's eyes, Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. She could see just how much she was affecting him, his pupils blown wide in pleasure. Knowing that he was feeling the same as she was made her body clench in unexpected pleasure.

Hermione's hands found Antonin's shoulders, surprised by how close she was once again. She rose and fell in a steady rhythm until she felt her toes curl in an involuntary reaction. "Oh, oh, Antonin," she moaned as she came undone, feeling her body pulse in wave after wave of pleasure. She pressed her face against his shoulder once again as she let her release wash over her.

Antonin was not far behind her. His hand on her hip continued the steady up and down of her body and it took only a few more unsteady thrusts before he was chasing after her. He moaned her name into her hair, which had only grown more wild during their intimate moment.

Although she would have really enjoyed lounging about naked all afternoon with Antonin, Hermione could not stand the thought of Voldemort walking in on them together. She wasn't sure that he wouldn't get some ideas about joining them or just using her for himself. Additionally, it sort of put a spanner in the assumption that she was Harry Potter's wife.

She was sure that Voldemort had faith in his henchmen, but even Antonin could not be good enough to get her to stray in less than twelve hours.

Reluctantly, she slipped back into the joggers and threw the t-shirt back over her head while Antonin did the same.

"We really shouldn't be doing this," Hermione said, a bit of guilt seeping back in when she thought of how quickly she had folded under Antonin's seductions. Again.

Oh, if M only knew, Hermione was sure she wouldn't even have a job anymore. She was too much of a liability!

"Why not?" Antonin asked, a bit annoyed at the suggestion.

"Because you are Voldemort's henchman and I am a quartermaster for the opposing side," Hermione answered, rolling her eyes. Suddenly reminded of how hungry she was, she found the box of macarons on the floor and picked one of the least crushed ones.

"What if-" Antonin cut himself off, reconsidering his words. "What if that wasn't so? What if I no longer worked for Voldemort? Then would it matter to you?"

Hermione swallowed, shocked by how treasonous his words were. "You shouldn't say that," she hissed. It was not lost on her that they were still in Voldemort's lair, and it was not guaranteed that they weren't being spied on at that very moment.

"Hermione. I don't-"

Before he could say another word, the door was blasted off its hinges. In the cloud of smoke that followed, a figure emerged, gun drawn.

"Dolohov!" Harry shouted, his eyes narrowing at the man sitting next to Hermione on the chaise. "Get your hands off of her."

Antonin fished something out of his pocket and thrust it into her hand before standing up. He was unarmed, but his eyes were roving around the room looking for a means of escape or some weapon he could use to defend himself.

And Hermione...

Hermione realized that she couldn't let anything happen to him.

Bolting up from the chaise, she ran across the room to throw herself into Harry's arms. With her eyes tightly closed, she started to blubber. "Oh Harry, thank god you saved me," she cried, sinking against his body so he was forced to abandon his defensive stance.

Awkwardly, Harry pat her on the back, mindful of the gun he still carried in his hand. "It's okay, Hermione," he tried to reassure her. "You should have known that I was going to come for you."

"Oh, it was so awful, Harry. Voldemort said such awful things to me, and...and..." she trailed off, only to look over her shoulder.

Antonin was gone.

"Blast, Dolohov's gotten away," Harry groaned.

Hermione pretended to cry again. "I'm so sorry," she blubbered away. "It's all my fault and now I've let him get away."

Harry, luckily, did not see through her act. "It's not your fault. It's mine," he soothed. "If I hadn't pretended you were my wife, none of this would have happened. And there is no point in chasing them down now. Ron would kill us if we missed his wedding. Are you ready to go back?"

She agreed, wondering what exactly had come over her.

It wasn't until she'd gotten back to the hotel with Harry that she was able to examine whatAntonin had given her. Curiously, it was a small flash drive.

Hermione knew that it was a bad idea to put an unknown flash drive into a computer. It was a very classic hacking trick, one she'd done before herself. But the source wasn't unknown. It was from Antonin.

Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her and she spun up a virtual machine to see what he'd given her, even though she should be fixing her hair for the ceremony. She gasped when the files began to pop up. It was clear what it was - schematics for some sort of satellite weaponry that Voldemort was building. Why had he given this to her?

And what had he meant...if he didn't work for Voldemort?

Those questions would have to wait for another time because she was going to be late. Harry knocked at her door, ready to escort her to the church.

"Do you think we could keep my little mishap between us?" Hermione asked him. "I don't think I can face M on Monday."

Harry chuckled, slinging an arm over her shoulders. "If she didn't already know, I would consider it," he teased her. "But I'm afraid the press has already alerted her. Apparently pretty British women being abducted from a posh casino runs up the diplomatic cables pretty quick."

Hermione tilted her head against his chest. "I guess you're right," she agreed, remembering the article she'd read about herself in the paper. "And then I wouldn't be able to explain the files that I managed to nick."

She hoped Antonin wouldn't mind the little white lie.

Harry turned to look at her, obviously impressed. "Mrs. Potter," he teased. "I'll have you ready for fieldwork yet!"

Hermione just laughed. "Not bloody likely."


End file.
